Raspberry
by BexQuinn
Summary: After serving 14 years for involuntary manslaughter, Troy Bolton has low expectations about his life. He decides to start all over in Winters where the people are nosy and the food is ridiculously good and the gossip is hot. Especially when his next-door-neighbor, the former wild child, is a familiar face.
1. Prologue

Author's Note: Raspberry is going to get a makeover. The previous storyline was crap and confusing and at the time I was writing this, I thought I could wing it, but things have changed and there's really no growth for the characters-not to mention, there's too fucking many of them. Besides, I have no idea where I left off (and I'm having vague feelings of horror about some of the stuff I've wrote) and I'm pretty sure there are similar plot lines out there that are more successful and can better deliver than I can. So I'm just gonna do what I wanna do and keep the title "Raspberry" and some of the dialogue. Now as for Peppermint, I'm pretty sure I just wanted to write a crap load of smut and put enough story line to keep people interested, but I'm not into that anymore and Peppermint's not really the main priority.

Disclaimers: I don't own High School Musical or its characters, but I'm using them to do my bidding. If you're offended by sexual/violent references/behavior, it's best you get off the train and wait for another one.

So here's the revamped version of Raspberry that I pulled out of my ass…

Prologue

You can't find Winters on the U.S. map. It's a small beach town with enough tourism to be famous along the coast but not enough to be overcrowded or booked during the summer. Here, you will find two gas stations and one of everything-one park, one bar, one restaurant, one bakery, one library, one high school, one hospital, one police station, one clinic, etc.

If you need a drink, go to sweet Maria's _Collywobbles_; after she passed away, her daughter took over the place and renovated for an even better atmosphere. If you want something sweet to eat, go to _My Bakery is Too Sexy for You_; the owner isn't bad to look at either, but his wife is rather possessive and can blind a poor fool with her flashy pink outfits-and sadly, he's very much in love with her, despite her manipulative tendencies. If you want to hang glide, then hang glide. If you want to go sailing, then go sailing. If you want to eat all the ice cream in town, prepare to have a small woman rob you of your money for making her aid you in your ice cream binge.

Be careful of the locals. They can make your life hell if they don't like you-which might be easier compared to them liking you. Because if they like you, they'll never leave you alone. Most of them have never heard of the word "privacy" or the term "butt the fuck out." They even have a local radio station dishing out gossip and if you miss the updates, just go to their Facebook fan page. But once you're one of them, they will always have your back.

Just remember these two things:

1. Sometimes it's okay if the young are old and the old are young.

2. If you're destined to be with someone, they will damn sure make it happen.


	2. Smell the Raspberry

Disclaimers: I don't own High School Musical or its characters, but I'm using them to do my bidding. If you're offended by sexual/violent references/behavior, it's best you get off the train and wait for another one.

Chapter 1

Gabriella Montez met her husband when she was eighteen and he was twenty-four. The six-year age difference never deterred her from stopping by his office at her father's work where he interned for the summer. Of course, everyone knew that she just wasn't there to bug her father about his unhealthy eating habits (heart attacks are not in season nor do they ever look good on anyone), so her infatuation (she didn't go overboard with those four plates of brownies, did she?) and her antics (that tool belt became her best friend that warm, boring afternoon) became the subject of water-cooler, break-time gossip much to the amusement of her civil-engineering father and to the horror of her blue-eyed crush. After two months of one-sided flirting and enough misadventures to segue into a full-time CW show, he finally agreed to a date. Since she was used to driving half an hour to San Francisco, she suggested a lunch date in the city at a quiet restaurant a few blocks away from EMM Associates.

When the waiter returned for the fifth time with a pity basket of cheese bread, Gabriella drank her third glass of apple cider and decided to drive home to Winters. She popped in her CD full of sad, country love songs and cried her lungs out until a friendly police officer pulled her over, offered an unused packet of tissues and said something she would never forget: "Some guys are douche ninnies."

And so she spent the rest of her summer waiting for fall. Because that fall, she would be at Stanford. At Stanford would be other blue-eyed, older guys who wouldn't ditch her for lame-ass reasons. And lame-ass reasons, she wouldn't fall for. So that following fall, she was at Stanford when she called her father to ask if he had her lava lamp in his car. He replied that he must've left it in the hallway outside her room. There in the hallway stood the blue-eyed, twenty-four-year-old douche ninny with her lava lamp and a picnic basket. She shoved her lava lamp in the picnic basket and slammed the door in his face.

For the next two months, he would walk her to her evening classes while going to his now full-time job at EMM Associates in the morning. Those two months were full of one-sided flirting and enough misadventures (he honestly thought he could get away with being a chemistry TA even though he failed it twice during high school) to amuse her housemates who would invite him to stay for dinner (no eggplants, please, they were both allergic) when she didn't have evening classes and he didn't have work the next day.

Gabriella really hated those dinners so she started to invite some of the cute guys from her lectures to join them. It was obvious that it pissed him off which in turn made her really happy because maybe then he would finally stop pursuing her. She had too much pride to give the first guy who broke her heart another chance.

But at the end of those two months, he apologized. He said he was on his way to their lunch date when he realized that he really liked her and her belly laugh and the way she said his name and how she always smelled so good like baked goods and that she had the craziest zingers, and he said it scared him that he felt so much in the little time they spent together and how that wasn't normal at all, and he said that he didn't care about normal anymore and that he missed her belly laugh and the way she said his name and her baked-good perfume and her crazy zingers and that he was really, really sorry.

And while he was rambling and turning a lovely shade of red, Gabriella realized that she was in love with the douche ninny. She liked older guys, but she loved this one: the one who never wore orange but ate it for lunch, the one who never complained about the way she'd been ignoring him for the past few weeks, the one who looked at her like he couldn't believe she was real, the one who made her want to give him another chance. So when he was done and looking slightly hysterical at her silence, she finally responded, "You owe me a lunch date."

He nodded. "Okay."

"And no more doing stupid shit like blowing me off 'cause you're scared."

"Okay."

"And I hate your tacky socks, oatmeal-flavored anything, and peanut butter. If you have a desire to eat any of those three items, please eat them at Guantanamo Bay or in the middle of a tornado."

He chuckled. "Anything else?"

"Just two more things." She stepped closer to him and grabbed the bottom of his shirt. "We'll have to figure out a schedule for this long-distance relationship, and if you haven't noticed, we're in one right now and you can't back out until either I break up with you or one of us dies."

He slid his hand to the back of her neck, his thumb rubbing at the soft skin there. "I'm fine with those terms. Do I have to sign anything?"

She rolled her eyes, then relaxed when he started kissing along her jaw. "Just your death warrant to my dad because you're the one who's going to tell him you're dating his only daughter."

He sighed and muttered something about a transfer, but she wasn't really listening because she was too busy pulling his shirt off.

The next eleven years were eventful. Gabriella had decided to change her major from law to business and when she was pregnant at twenty-five, she became co-owner of her mother's bar in Winters. Nine months later, she gave birth to Zane, her tiny little man who looked like her big man.

At twenty-eight, she lost her mother.

At twenty-nine, she became Mrs. Judd Avery.

And exactly one week later, she became Ms. Gabriella Avery.

-0-

Three years later.

Troy Bolton was a convicted felon and he was getting a shitty blowjob somewhere in a shady bathroom of an Arizona gas station. As he stood there against the cold, dirty wall, faking most of his groans, he figured it was better than not getting one at all. In fact, it had been fourteen fracking years since he had his last blowjob but thinking about it reminded him that it wasn't that great either. It was the night of his graduation, and he got drunk enough to forget his half-assed valedictorian speech and let one of the girls from a larping club blow him in the basement of someone's house.

No, the best blowjob he got was on that overnight trip at Stanford. (Honestly, he didn't like thinking about that particular university since he missed out on that full-ride scholarship they offered him.) But damn, even though he agreed not to exchange names with her, Mole Girl (she had a cute little mole on the back of her neck) not only gave him the best blowjob of his life, but also the best night of his life-thinking of her made it slightly bearable during his lonely nights of masturbation and the long hours spent at the yard and library.

And when he wasn't thinking of her, he was thinking of all the things he wouldn't get to do and all the things he had to do and how his mother, sister, and uncle were doing and what he'd say to them whenever they'd visit and all the other shit he had to consider when he would leave New Mexico State Penitentiary-which was two weeks ago on Tuesday. A very shitty Tuesday because even though Troy Bolton was a fairly intelligent-looking (and terribly good-looking) man who hadn't killed anyone in the last thirteen years and eleven months, all forty-two of those interviews ended briefly.

He wasn't stupid. He knew those local business owners were wary of him as much as the inmates at NMSP, if not, more (which didn't really make any sense to him since he wasn't likely to put any of those interviewers in the infirmary as he did to the inmates before getting sent to disciplinary segregation); nonetheless, the visible tattoos along his arms combined with his overwhelming presence had intimidated most of them before they could ask their first question. However, his last interviewer was, in one word, a cougar and more than willing to go down on him at first glance, but he wasn't interested in fucking to get a job-sure, he was desperate for another's woman touch, but he had pride, damnit.

"You're lucky you're handsome, sweetie," she had called out from behind her desk as he walked away towards the door. "Your looks might be the only thing that'll save you."

A part of him believed her.

In high school, the same thing happened but he knew how to turn those situations to his advantage. He would take odd jobs from mowing the lawns to cleaning rich people's pools to help his mom and younger sister survive in an apartment located not in the best but not also the worst neighborhood in Albuquerque. Some of the women he would work for found him attractive, and he'd do simple things like taking his shirt off or bending over slowly for an increase in pay-just enough of these simple things to satisfy these women but not enough for a criminal charge of statutory rape. Their daughters, on the other hand, were another story. He was a loner, but he wasn't completely immune to their sweet curves and soft skin and warm smiles.

But he wasn't seventeen anymore. He was thirty-one and because he already had low expectations about his life, he didn't take those interviews to heart. They were just rocks dropping on his big toe-enough to make him wince but not enough to make him slit his wrists.

But as he stood there, faking another groan, he eyed a broken piece of glass on the floor and wondered if he could get a job as a janitor to wipe the blood off. It was dark humor, one of the few things he got to fine-tune at NMSP and had learned from his father-

Wow. Never had he gone as soft as fast as he did at that moment.

He sighed and pulled off the strawberry-blonde-haired girl who looked up at him bewildered as if all the guys she'd been with had stayed hard enough to come. Honestly, he doubted that and wondered if he should slap in her the face with some truth. But then again, she might easily bite his dick off and her teeth did feel sharp. And so, he pulled his pants up and calmly explained that her boyfriend might be looking for her.

He was right; the girl's boyfriend was standing outside the bathroom door with his arms crossed and his mouth pinched like a professional eight-year-old. Troy rolled his eyes, indifferent to the other man's anger, and saluted sarcastically as he walked away. Not his friend, not his problem. His uncle Mike, who sheepishly revealed hours ago that he had broken into his former apartment where they had spent the past two weeks (they felt bad for draining the refrigerator of its contents but not enough to replace them), was sleeping in the passenger seat, so he took over the wheel and drove them on to the highway.

He remembered during the one-hour visitations the excruciating details his younger sister, Stephanie, gave when she described traveling from Gray Haven to Albuquerque. He didn't remember all the details, but somewhere in Southern California at two o'clock in the morning, he saw the hills that looked like toilet paper and smelled the places that reminded him of bubble gum and ranch dressing. This would probably be the last time he'd travel before driving his mom, uncle, and Stephanie to his father's grave in Albuquerque. (That was another thing he didn't like to think about.)

At seven thirty, he was still wide awake and listening to a station playing alternative rock. At seven thirty-five, he saw the overhead sign list Winters only two miles away, and exactly two seconds later, he saw white smoke blowing from the hood of a gray, compact car parked on the side of the road. Beside it was a dark-skinned woman talking frantically into her cellphone waving her hands and arms in a chopping, robotic motion. It was tempting to drive by with his own robotic movements, but he decided against it and parked a few feet away from the other car.

_Please, no hidden cameras._

-0-

Taylor McKessie had fucked up, and it was her job, as both Mayor of Winters and fiancée to Chad Danforth, to fix it. She didn't really mean to offend forty-four-year-old Jeffery Fagan, former mechanic of _Danforth's Roadkill_, Chad's auto shop, into quitting his job and selling fake IDs on the east coast to underprivileged teenagers, but the man needed the unsolicited advice as much as he needed a full body scrub of apricot mango. And even though she promised two months worth of Zeke Baylor's famous cheesecake, Jeffery didn't want his old job back and was content with his unlawful business.

After three failed interviews (one of them was a magician and another just came to say he liked the name of the shop), Chad stopped talking to her. And because she couldn't stand getting the silent treatment from the man who never made fun of her webbed feet, the thirty-two-year-old, former lawyer drove her car onto the highway and tampered with it, hoping an unemployed auto mechanic would drive by on this cold Wednesday morning.

She wasted an hour of faking distress, talking into her phone to a non-existent friend, while waving her hands around to show the seriousness of the situation. She always did that during successful town meetings (successful for her, not for that bitch Casey Duvall, Chad's ex), but it didn't seem to work when one driver stopped to do some robotic street dance in her face.

Then there he was, the man who was going to make everything better, parking a white truck twice her age in front of her car, looking criminal in his simple black t-shirt, faded blue jeans, and worn-out Converse sneakers. And holy hell, was something fucking with her vision or were those actual tattoos? Self-note #1: Remind Rob to announce the arrival of the eye-candy mechanic. Some of the women in Winters would love to sink everything they had into an attractive, six-feet-tall man who looked like a glass of chocolate and fine wine. Self-note #2: You are closed to getting married.

"Hi, I'm Troy Bolton," he said, shaking her hand in a firm but friendly grip. "I have a jack in the trunk to help replace your popped tire and if you have a leak, I have antifreeze."

"Taylor McKessie," she replied as she watched him return to the truck to gather the supplies. Making sure that her decoy purse was in the front where he could easily grab it, she was about to help him lift the back of her car when a familiar face climbed out of the truck and was about to greet her but with a shake of her head, she saw him nod and walk off to take a piss in the bushes. Mike Bolton was a radio host with his partner, Rob Thorne, and the both of them played the town great music and shared hot local gossip, "none of that typical Hollywood crap," as Rob once commented on air.

When he slipped back into the truck, Taylor noticed that Troy was already putting her tire in and it wasn't even ten minutes yet. Three minutes later, he was done and wiping the grime down his jeans, hiding the pleased grin on his face. Even though the last time he replaced a tire was fourteen years ago, he did it under fifteen minutes-something he knew really impressed the woman.

"You're even faster than my fiancée," she shared, barely attempting to hide her surprise.

"Is he a mechanic god or something?" he joked, putting the busted tire into the trunk of her car.

She twisted the engagement ring on her finger. "Something like that," she replied vaguely as she watched him moving to the hood and pouring the antifreeze into the reserve tank. "Tell me: How long have you been doing this?"

"Um, since I was six, I used to watch my dad work on cars. In fact," he elaborated, pointing towards the truck, "that was the first car I saw him working on. Eventually I wore him down and he started teaching me behind my mom's back." Sometimes working on cars made him talkative, but most of the time, it was hard not to think of his father while he worked under the hood.

"Besides the personal experience, did you apply your skills on a professional level?"

He looked at her and put the container down. "Yes. In high school, I worked part-time at my father's auto shop while taking the essential chemistry courses to understand the complex chemical reactions involved in the necessary functioning of the engine."

She nodded, impressed that he caught on to her ploy and had turned it around on her. "What about after high school?"

Mike, leaning against the side of the truck, spoke up, catching their attention. "He was busy-"

"I was in prison," Troy interrupted, drawing her eyes back to him.

Maybe this was the worst idea she ever had, but something in his demeanor stopped her from closing her hood and getting back into her car to drive to Chad and ask for his forgiveness. Then she remembered that he never looked into her car nor did he attempt to impress her with pulling a rabbit out of his hat. And the prosecutor in her knew that Troy Bolton had paid for his mistake and accepted it as a part of who he was (which he demonstrated by being honest with her) while the part of her that was a daughter of a convicted embezzler kept her on guard.

Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders. "Can you change my oil, too?"

Nothing on his face gave him away as he lifted the jack to the front while Taylor moved to Mike's side. In a soft voice, she asked, "Your nephew?" When he nodded, she continued, "So he's the reason why you got Henry fired?"

Mike crossed his arms defensively. "Henry was useless."

"Henry saved the station from being closed down!"

The older man sighed. "I promised my brother that I would look after him."

"Unethical, Mike, very unethical. Besides, Troy doesn't seem like a fan of nepotism. He'd catch on eventually."

"He already did when I mentioned it after his release." Sighing, he rubbed a hand over his face. "Look, Taylor, Troy's been to more than forty interviews these past two weeks. He doesn't have the best résumé-I know-but one thing I do know: he's the best mechanic after his father."

She was quiet for a moment, thinking about what Chad would do. Then finally: "May I ask what he did?"

"I spent fourteen years locked up at New Mexico State Penitentiary for involuntary manslaughter," Troy answered on his back below the hood. His voice took on a low tone. "I pushed my neighbor over the railing of our apartment complex after I caught him raping my mother on our living room floor." Getting to his feet, he went over to the jack to lower the car. "I can dispose the oil if you want."

Looking a little rattled, Taylor shook her head and took the container to the trunk. As she stood at the back of her car, she made up her mind (to this day, her father was still claiming innocence even though there was strong evidence against him that he stole from EMM Associates) and as she came up behind him, she remarked, "One final question: would you consider working at _Danforth's Roadkill_, my fiancée's auto shop?"

Saying "fuck yeah" was on the tip of his tongue, but did the woman know what she was getting herself into? Did she know what she was asking? He wanted to say, "You might want to reconsider that offer," but it didn't seem like she would.

It seemed like he could get this job, in spite of his record-in spite of his looks.

But still. "You might want to reconsider that offer."

She narrowed her eyes at him as if offended that he was questioning her ability to assess one's skill set. "Why would I do that? Not once did you look at my purse in the front seat, and you didn't ask me creepy questions about what's under my shirt."

He did notice the purse, but he considered stealing petty and coming from him, that seemed hypocritical but he was who he was and what would he do with a purse full of makeup and no money? And no one could miss the rock, the size of a bloated walnut, on her finger. "You'd probably regret hiring an ex-con." He started returning the equipment to the truck, pushing Mike to the driver's seat, needing some privacy for this conversation.

"And you'd probably regret turning this job down."

"Yeah." He ran a hand through his fingers. "_Danforth's Roadkill_, huh? Either he has a sense of humor or he didn't know someone changed the sign."

She rolled her eyes. "So that's a yes?" At his nod, she continued, "Both of you should join me and Chad for dinner tomorrow night. Help me ease him into this. Because Chad's such a mama's boy, he'll probably hire you." She started getting into her car when she remembered something. "Oh, tell Mike he can bring his boyfriend."

This woman needed to slow down. Troy blinked. "My uncle's gay?"

Taylor slapped her hands against her face. "Shit, I didn't mean to say that."

He laughed. "I'm messing with you. I was a little suspicious when he started humming some Madonna in his sleep."

She rolled her eyes again and waved goodbye, pulling on to the near-empty highway, wondering if she should sex Chad up so hard before tomorrow's dinner that he'd say yes to anything.

Then she remembered he was ignoring her.

_Fuck my life._

-0-

Winters, Troy thought standing on the sidewalk in front of Mike's two-story house, was a west-coast, Podunk town in Northern Bumfucked Nowhere, California where a job as a mechanic was waiting for him-exactly 1087.4 miles away from Albuquerque.

Mike was already inside with his boyfriend, whom he introduced to Troy, who declined to join them for a moment of peace outside. The blue-gray house looked spacey from the outside and had a white door and five windows, three upstairs and two downstairs, facing the Pacific and white sand. Why Mike kept this place to himself, Troy had no idea and he was itching to see his mom and sister's place in Gray Haven, only a town over, but they didn't know he was already here so he wanted to keep it a surprise for tonight.

Before they came to this part of Winters, Mike drove for almost an hour, pointing everything out to his nephew. The first stop was at the clinic with a pointed look from the forty-seven-year-old. Then came the real parts of the impromptu tour. The marina with houseboats and sailboats. The funky shops lined up along the boardwalk. The main street and the park and the shop called _My Bakery is Too Sexy for You _and the bar _Collywobbles_ and city hall and finally the radio station. Even all the houses in the neighborhood didn't seem to follow a basic foundation; some were one-story, two-story, modern, traditional, solar, blue, green, or a mix of everything.

The only reminders of Albuquerque were the morning sky and the mountains miles away.

Here, he would start all over. Here, he would get better blowjobs. And here, he would finally get some sleep.

As he walked up the stairs, he felt something hit him on the side of his face. Reaching up with his fingers, he felt something wet and slightly sticky. It was reddish-purple and hard to wipe off his hands. He looked for the culprit to the right and found a seven-year-old blonde kid with a box of dark berries in his hand. It was a little discombobulating that the boy's chin looked familiar.

Suddenly, he was hit on the other side of his face with another fruit.

"Welcome to Winters, Boy Toy," the brunette taunted with a smile that matched her son's.

_What the fuck is up with this town and its people? _"Mole Girl?" _Low expectations, Bolton, low fucking expectations, low motherfucking expectations, low wow-you-are-going-to-fail-so-hard expectations. _

She frowned and crinkled her nose. "Minus two points for originality."

Then mother and son pelted him until he gathered enough berries to retaliate. It wasn't until Mole Girl boldly shoved an ammo up his nose that he smelled raspberry.

A/N: Judd Avery: either Chris Evans or Alex Pettyfer. And let me know what you think so far.


	3. Hear the Raspberry

A/N: You're not obligated to send a review, but I would like to know if there are any lacking character developments or minor grammatical errors that I've missed. I'm not really sure about having a beta because if I have to stick to a schedule, I can't do it and I don't really know how to talk to other people, in person or online.

A/N: I might start another story (down the long, long road to Maybethiswillhappenland) for those who followed the previous Raspberry story line. I would need to pace it and figure out the emotions and motivations for each character-I can't have Gabriella already horny for Troy after leaving him and his shady past four years ago, and I want to explore the persona of new characters before sharing them with any of you who are interested in reading the story. When I read my old stuff, I was horrified that I posted them up. I mean, the sexual tension between Troy and Gabriella was hot, but I was put off (and pissed at myself) by how quickly they got back together. However, if you're interested in writing the story yourself, I would be glad to email my old stuff. Just promise me it'll be better than what I had.

A/N: I have Australia and UK envy.

Disclaimers: I don't own High School Musical or its characters, but I'm using them for my enjoyment. If you're offended by sexual/violent references/behavior, it's best you get off the train and wait for another one.

Dedicated to ElenaBolton19, pumpkinking5, dyeitrouge, and loveMISSINGlove for making the first reviews for the revamped version of this hot mess.

Chapter 2

After her mother died and her father retired to a beautiful houseboat on the marina, then twenty-eight-year-old Gabriella channeled her energy into her mother's legacy, _Collywobbles_, the only bar in Winters. The property was in the process of reconstruction, ready for the addition of a separate dining area for a family-friendly place and a private room for parties. Gabriella had expressed her thoughts about the bar to her mother when she was sixteen and constantly supervised by former bartenders who would lock her in the back room for flirting with older out-of-towners who would mistake her for twenty-one and buy her a drink. The extra space, the minor argued, would rack up extra income for _Collywobbles_, but everyone knew that both vicinities would make it more legal (and slightly acceptable) for the older fanboys to flirt with her. But what was the harm about sharing a basket of fried shrimp? Her mother's reply: when the man you're sharing shrimp with is twelve years older and has pedophiliac tendencies. End of discussion.

For the next five months, Gabriella worked harder and longer than anyone on the project while thirty-four-year-old Judd commuted to San Francisco as a senior civil engineer for EMM Associates and fifty-eight-year-old Antonio Montez babysat three-year-old Zane who was a hellion like his mother but a replica of his father.

On the reopening night of _Collywobbles_, Judd proposed with a ring the size of a pinky nail. In a fit of irrational tears, Gabriella refused-she was the one who started this relationship, so she would be the one who would propose to him. But because she knew she was being irrational, she sniffed, "Nevermind. Okay, you douche ninny. I'll marry you."

They married a week after her twenty-ninth birthday, four days before Christmas, when the world was destined to die a very beautiful death. But no apocalypse interrupted their wedding on the abandoned bridge located in the outskirts of Winters; no zombie came out and infected the bride before she could say, "I do." Gabriella almost wished that did happen so someone could have taken a picture she'd share with her grandchildren.

But that day was perfect and everything she dreamed of and more.

After the reception, he took her on a plane to the Caribbean. Turquoise waters, white sand, and a tiny red bikini that made her husband drool. Oh, just knowing that she'd spend the rest of her life with this man, the father of her child, the guy who followed her to Stanford, _her husband_, gave her a delicious tingle that ran up and down her spine.

For the next six days, they made love everywhere, hoping for a honeymoon baby. On the seventh day, they went on a morning boat ride before their afternoon flight. When Gabriella noticed that it was over fifteen minutes since Judd mentioned he'd be in the bathroom, she went inside and found the lower deck empty. Rushing up deck, she asked the captain if he'd seen her husband. Then the captain called the coast guard and it was hell returning inland without Judd.

She missed the flight, called her father, and cried-in what order, she couldn't remember. Coast guard found Judd and said he must have fallen overboard and drowned. It killed her that he had died days before the new year. It killed her that her son didn't have a father anymore. It killed her that she left Winters as Mrs. Judd Avery and would return a week later as Ms. Gabriella Avery.

From then on, she always kept her wedding ring on. During the day at the bar, she became notably less flirty with the older out-of-towners and kept herself busy making inventories even though she had a manager who was very capable of his job. At home, she became heavily invested in her four-year-old son's growth and interest for the world around him. He couldn't understand why his daddy was missing, and she didn't either, but she held it together for him, told him she loved him, and that daddy was okay because even though he wasn't there, he had a piece of them as much as they had a piece of him. She knew that somewhere in his tiny heart, he didn't believe her, but he hugged her back as hard as she did.

At night, she'd break out the photo albums and wedding tape, tracing his face with her eyes and fingertips. Sometimes she wished she could walk into a photo, to a certain instant of time when he was still alive, and touch him one last time, one more kiss, one more day, one more night, one more chance to have a child together. She would wake up with disappointment, her only partner in bed. Sometimes it was frustration, other times hurt, and when she wasn't aware, emptiness would creep in with a hand over her heart.

One morning she woke up with a pressure on her heart and found her son sleeping with his head on her shoulder. She could hear her father humming a familiar tune downstairs, most likely preparing breakfast as he always did the past seven months. Counting backwards to ten, she took a deep breathe to calm herself down; Zane would probably cry if he saw her cry so she did her best and thought of the waters but the first images were from her honeymoon. Then she thought about the sky and how it was blue and she saw Judd's eyes. Damn, he had picked out the ceiling fan when they first moved into their home and Zane was basically a mini-Judd.

She saw her husband everywhere, in everything, every time.

It was six months after Judd's first death anniversary when her friends intervened. It wasn't the first time, but it was the first successful intervention. They went to a club in Gray Haven, and Sharpay Evans-Baylor, in her short, pink-sequined dress, ordered a round of Vodka shots in honor of Gabriella, who wore a killer, black mini-dress and her lucky, purple heels. The purpose of this girls' night out was to help Gabriella get her groove back. So when guys ordered her a drink or asked for a dance, either Sharpay, Taylor, or Kelsi Evans, Sharpay's sister-in-law, would cockblock, whether insinuating lesbian relations or lifting Gabriella's left ring finger where her white-gold wedding band stood stark against her honey-olive skin.

None of them dared to laugh, fearing she would catch on, when a scowl _a la Sharpay _started forming on her face.

Soon enough, Gabriella got fed up and finally shared a drink with a handsome man with green eyes and jet-black hair (and four years old than her), nothing physical about him that reminded her of Judd. And maybe that was why she sauntered away with his number in her hand. But before she went to bed that night (her five-year-old sleeping over at grandpa's houseboat), she pulled the number out and threw it into the garage. She had no intentions of calling him.

Three days later, he was at _Collywobbles_ and at first, she didn't recognize him, but when he reintroduced himself as Jackson Rhodes, she apologized for leading him on. Even though she wasn't interested, he insisted on a friendly dinner and seven weeks later, she found herself on a sixth date in Winters' only restaurant, _Eat Your a La Heart Out_, sitting across a funny man who seemed sincere on their first date when he gave his condolences after she explained that this was the first time she'd been out in town with another man who wasn't her father or friend over a year since her husband's death. On her front porch, he kissed her slowly and reassured he liked her so he would wait for her.

She didn't remember how it happened exactly, but she woke up the next morning, sharing her bed with another man who didn't smell like rich coffee and aftershave.

Later on, while Zane was eating his cereal and watching cartoons in the living room, Gabriella was sharing everything with her father who listened with a careful ear. When she was done relaying her night, Antonio reached for her hands and rubbed them with this own. "After your mom died, I remembered the promise I made to her about going to the Philippines for our anniversary but couldn't because of a work commitment. I hated myself for breaking that promise and every other promise I said I would keep but had hold off on due to my career.

"So I retired, bought that houseboat your mother wanted, and took my grandson wherever he wanted. It took me a while to get used to being alone, but still, I get uncomfortable with it, and when it gets too much, I come over here. I make you guys breakfast so we wouldn't be alone, so we wouldn't remind ourselves that there are two less people at this table.

"Gabriella, just listen to me: your mother was it for me, and she'll probably always will be. But sweetheart," he said, wiping her tears away, "your Judd was a novel that ended tragically. It's time for a new volume."

That afternoon, she left the bar early to surprise her son with a trip to the movies to watch the latest animated movie about friendly zombies. Between his mother and grandfather, the little boy was happy, laughing throughout the film, thoroughly enjoying himself. Gabriella couldn't think of a more perfect day, knowing her son was okay. When it was over and they were waiting for Carlos who was in the bathroom, Zane turned to his mother with a content look in his eyes.

"Daddy was with us, Mommy."

Really, she wanted to ask, because she hadn't felt him since her girls' night out.

Zane slipped his hand into hers, gripping it tight. "He loves us lots, you know, but he really wants us to laugh again, Mommy. He says it's okay if we do."

She heard the earnest conviction in his voice, the truth of his words cutting at her heart, and was about to cry in the middle of the lobby when her father came up to rub a hand on her back, seeing the upset look on her face.

"I didn't mean to make you sad, Mommy!"

She gathered him up in her arms, soothing him with her soft voice, and headed towards the exit with her father following behind them, throwing darts to those who couldn't gawk away. Among those who did turn away was Zeke Baylor, owner of _My Bakery is Too Sexy For You_, (with his friend Jason Cross, a P.E. teacher at the local high school) dialing a familiar number. When his wife answered, he explained the situation.

"Leave it to me, babe." Then Sharpay started making plans for that night's impromptu party. As head of the drama department at Winters High, the blonde thirty-one-year-old was the champion at planning in crunched time. If she hadn't loved what she was doing, she would have been an event planner-she was the best at being bossy and knew how to throw an awesome party that even the guards outside Buckingham Place would want an invite.

And this time, the party was at _Collywobbles_ (it must have been green and leafy what Maria was smoking, Sharpay mused, thinking about the hash Wednesdays Derby and Vance Evans unknowingly shared with their then sixteen-year-old daughter who poured more expensive wine into their glasses), packed with patrons who were close with Gabriella, and she winced, thinking that if a fire marshal were to walk in, she would be forced to knock him out with her wedge heels but damnit, she loved these heels more than she loved her husband's strawberry cupcake and that was a lot of love. End of internal rant.

The guest of honor finally arrived, holding her son's hand, while her father tried to cover up the conspiratorial grin on his face when she turned around to glare at him.

Without warning, the blonde (who looked like a healthy twig but could out-bench-press the men in her family) pulled Gabriella (whose mama and yoga gave her a great ass) on to the stage at the back where a mike stand was waiting for her. "Knock 'em dead." Blowing her best friend a kiss, she slipped away as fast as she could with a smug smile she didn't bother to hide.

The brunette had taken a deep breath, figuring the night was going to end a whole lot sooner if she just did this song, and was about to throttle Kelsi who was manning the karaoke system when she saw the song title flash upon on the screen.

_Girls Just Want to Have Fun_, by Cyndi fracking Lauper.

Then Mr. Rhodes strolled in, looking absolutely yummy in a plain t-shirt that complemented his broad shoulders and dark blue jeans that hugged a part of him she remembered clearly from last night. Even though she wanted to close her eyes, she couldn't, even as she started singing along, feeling her body loosen up. Having the support of the people she knew since her childhood felt good, made it easier to smile and do a few twirls, but knowing that a man who found her attractive was going to take her to bed again, made it totally fun-fucking-tastic.

Wow. She really missed this.

She caught her son dancing on the dance floor between his godmother and Taylor while her father shared a bottle of beer with his friends at a booth nearby. Along the left side of the bar, Jackson joined her male friends-Chad Danforth, Zeke Baylor, Jason Cross, Ryan Evans-for a friendly game of pool and winked at her before he shot a striped ball into one of the pockets. Even if things didn't work out between them, Gabriella thought as she hit another high note, she wouldn't hold out on fun anymore.

Because clearly fun had missed her, too.

-0-

Two years later.

After Mole Girl shoved the raspberry up his nose, Troy laughed-because this was his life: absurd and absolutely ridiculous. He was soaked and sticky from head to toe when MG dropped down to her bare feet and stared up at him with hooded eyes and parted lips.

As soon as they first met on that overnight trip at Stanford, his temporary roommate's girlfriend, who was coincidentally MG's roommate, wanted to swap rooms and so he spent the night playing Monopoly and eye-tag with the most confident girl he'd ever met before she wiped out the board and leaned over to kiss him while Jimmy Eat World's _Middle _played in the background. It was the rawest night of his life, and he never forgot the last thing she said to him at the bus station: "Look for me next fall." Her eyes expressed, _I want you to find me_. Against her lips, he responded with a thorough kiss, _I will_.

The past fourteen years told him otherwise.

And here she was, still tiny, standing before him in ripped shorts and a yellow tank top. There were obvious changes to her body: wider hips, shoulder-lengthened hair, black-rimmed, rectangular glasses that slipped down her nose to reveal the unidentified vulnerability behind those brown eyes.

And a white-gold wedding band on her left ring finger.

He had to get out of here before he did something stupid (like explain where he spent his college years and beyond) because this woman, covered in raspberry leftovers, represented many of the lost opportunities in his life.

But he held out his hand and thought, _Fuck it. I'll start being a good guy next week. _"Troy Bolton."

She heard the tone behind his voice, and he saw the challenge in her expression. "Gabriella Mont-" A pause. "Avery. Gabriella Avery."

There was a warning in her grip, and he didn't really know how he felt about being her dirty, little secret so he pasted on a smile to show how not bothered he was because clearly she wasn't. Clearly.

"So Boy Toy?" he teased, pleased with the blush settling on her cheeks. "Minus two points for unoriginality."

She scoffed, opening her mouth to tell him off, when scrawny legs wrapped around him from behind as her blonde sidekick shoved a raspberry in his right ear. "And I'm Zane Avery!"

He should've known. The kid had an aura of a natural-born cockblock.

Gabriella (a mouthful for such a small woman) winced and forced her son to apologize. He did so without meeting Troy's eyes, and confused by the silence, he finally glanced up to feel a squishy raspberry soaking in his ear.

Troy smirked. "Now we're even."

Zane grinned cheekily. "Not even close."

-0-

When mother and son disappeared inside the two-story house next door and he was climbing up the stairs for the second time, Mike and Rob bombarded him with questions and criticisms.

"How do you know Gabriella?" came from the well-dressed latter who stood next to his lumberjack-wannabe significant other.

Pointing to the floor, said lumberjack-wannabe grunted, "You're dripping raspberries all over the foyer."

"Are you interested in her?" Rob tilted his head with an almost demented smile on his face.

"Take a shower." A sniff. "You smell as if someone vomited can fruit all over you."

Puppy-dog eyes and a protruding lower lip. "We can invite them over for dinner Friday night."

"Why are you still in those awful clothes?" Hypocritical eye rolling.

Incessant nodding. "You should drop by her bar, _Collywobbles_."

"Why aren't you moving?" Mock concern. "Are you having a sudden episode of paralysis?"

Troy sighed and began the long journey upstairs. "I don't know Gabriella." _I only knew her as Mole Girl_. "I knew I was dripping raspberries over the foyer. Now I'm dripping raspberries along the stairs. I will take a shower and no, I don't care if I smell as if someone vomited can fruit all over me. I hear fruit makes the skin look healthy. I also don't care if you invite them over for dinner on Friday_." But I wouldn't mind if you did. _"I'm still in these awful clothes because you'd probably bitch if I were to take them off in front of your boyfriend. And who names a bar _Collywobbles_? Even a three-year-old could come up with a better name."

Rob boldly asked again, "Are you interested in her?"

He didn't stop on his way to the guest room where his bag was waiting for him on the queen-sized bed. "What does it matter? She's married."

Then came the closing of a door with a simple lock, quiet and final.

-0-

Troy was restless and thinking thoughts he didn't want to think about. At NMSP, he would focus on counting his pull-ups to distract himself from the direction his thoughts would take him. He knew he wasn't going to be there forever, but he had feared that he would wake up one day without his sanity. He lost his family and he lost his future, but there was no way in hell that he was going to break and lose his mind.

But here in bed, after taking a very, very cold shower (and receiving a very, very quick release from his hand) and slipping into the pajama pants his uncle had lent him, he was slowly doing that by asking himself 'What if.' What if he didn't get the job? What if no one was hiring in town? What if his mom and sister were embarrassed of him? What if he were to meet Gabriella's husband?

Groaning out loud at that last what if, he got out of bed and exchanged the pajama pants with navy blue shorts and an old pair of running shoes he found in the closet. Two blocks into his run, he found a rhythm and began to answer those what ifs methodically.

If he didn't get the job, he'd find another one. If no one was hiring, he'd go to Gray Haven. If no one was hiring in Gray Haven, he'd go somewhere else and so forth. If his mom and sister were embarrassed of him, he'd give them space and eventually win them back. If he couldn't win them back, then he'd leave them alone-it was the least he could do. If he met Gabriella's husband, he'd say he had a beautiful wife and a ballsy kid but behind the man's back, Troy would gloat that he had her first and not his kid, not his problem.

He was about to wipe the sweat off his forehead when a towel almost blinded him. Catching it before it did any damage, he stopped and turned to find a white-haired woman in a neon-green jacket and matching cutoffs catching her breath, putting a hand over her chest.

"I just-" Slow, deep breath. "-wanted to introduce myself. Anna." Weak smile. "I'm Anna Darbus."

He returned her towel without using it. "Troy Bolton."

"It's okay. Use it. I have another one," she insisted, settling on a park bench and inviting him to do the same as she dabbed another towel on her face, curiously peeking at his visible tattoos from time to time.

He humored her, leaning back for her to have a good look, and took in his surroundings. A young couple was playing chess while nearby two old men held hands, speaking in low voices. Across the park at the basketball court were a few teenagers showing off what little skills they had; he laughed when a skinny, dark-skinned kid sitting on top of his tall friend's shoulders missed a simple basket.

"Did you used to play?"

"On a team, no. For fun, yeah."

"It seems like you miss it." He didn't say anything so she tried again. "I heard the boys' basketball team lost their coach. I can put in a good word for you. I stepped down as head from the drama department four years ago, but I still have connections. Besides, everyone likes Mike, even when he's grumpy so-"

So she had figured out his connection to Mike. "You don't even know me, Ms. Darbus." He glanced at her before looking away. "Thanks, but no thanks."

He was about to get up and jog back when a firm grip kept him in place. "At least think about it."

He was done with thinking, but nodded anyway. He was such a people pleaser, he realized. "Okay."

She released her hold and told him about the upcoming festivities in town. It was the third week of summer and this weekend's theme was Black Tie. Everyone from elderly to infant was required to dress up and have fun on the boardwalk while Antonio Montez performed on the piano with a top hat.

"We should start heading back." Because he was a closet people pleaser, he followed without saying a word. He was walking her to her front door when she paused with her hand on the knob. "He looks good in a top hat."

He got the message and caved like crème brulee. "I'll pick you up at seven."

-0-

Troy Bolton had such a good laugh that Gabriella considered breaking out her favorite bunny just to get it out of her system before she left for work. Her son was at a friend's place, and she had the whole house to herself that she could be as loud as she wanted. But giving in would be weak, she decided and so she left while Lower Gabriella cried, needing her O to get her through the day.

On the way to _Collywobbles_, she saw him jogging shirtless and was about to wrap her car around someone's mailbox. Good fucking job, self-restraint. For the next few hours, his laugh and his body wouldn't leave her alone. Every time she heard a chuckle, a snort, a giggle, she'd compare it to his and arrive at the same fucking conclusion: his was better.

But she saw the interest in his eyes when he looked her up and down and she saw those tattoos (taunting her to take a bite, a lick, a touch) and knew that he was trouble and that she was in trouble. She knew herself well enough to know that she'd probably make the first move and he'd follow her lead and dominate her as he did years ago. He'd probably cup the back of her neck and nibble the skin behind her ear. He'd probably pick her up in those big, strong arms of his before driving into her, pulling her hair back. But her personal favorite was of him pushing her head down while he took her from behind.

She almost came just thinking about it.

"Gabriella," her manager said, "you don't look well. Go home, relax. I have everything under control."

In the privacy of her bedroom, she touched herself without the help of the bunny and thought about Troy and his laugh and the tattoos that covered his upper body-she wondered if he would share the stories behind each one while he fucked her. Borderline delirious, she came quickly, clenching herself around her fingers with his name on her lips.

She was still in bed on a high when her doorbell rang. She greeted Rob in her robe and accepted a dinner invitation to his place on Friday. In his hands were two, clear-plastic containers of her favorite fruit. She blushed, thinking of this morning's ambush and how close she was to mauling a near stranger's face in front of her son, and bid goodbye to Rob who was oh so very tickled.

_Whatever_, she told herself in the kitchen, _who cares? _

Back in bed, looking up at the ceiling fan Judd had picked out, she could hear the raspberries laughing at her, calling her a liar.


	4. Blow the Raspberry

A/N: I'm starting school in a few days so I'll try to update on the weekends. Also, I'm currently working on a prequel so be on the lookout for that one too (Spoiler: Zane madness).

Disclaimer: I don't own High School Musical or its characters, but I'm corrupting them to the best of my abilities. If you're offended by sexual/violent references/behavior, it's best you get off the train and wait for another one.

Dedicated to mstinkxoxo, dyeitrouge, and Allison.

Chapter 3

It was the last day of school for twelve-year-old Stephanie Bolton when her older brother Troy waited in the parking lot behind the wheel of an old, white truck. The truck had belonged to their father, Jack, who died of a heart attack last summer. Since then, their mother, Clarissa, had quit her job to run Jack's body shop because it simply made more money. To help their mother pay the bills, Troy took a portion of his pay from whatever odd job he could find into the jar their mother hid below the sink.

Every night, he would return from work and help Stephanie with her homework before he started on his own. "As long as I'm here," he'd told her when she once confessed to wanting to start working like him, "you will never have to clean a dirty pool or pick up after a fussy dog or mow an uncut lawn. As long as I'm here, you won't have to worry about the clothes on your back or the roof over your head. I promise you that."

In the passenger seat, Stephanie scooted closer to Troy who lowered the volume on the sometimes broken radio and nodded to his backpack on the floor. "Check the front pocket."

Eager to find some food, she reached in and found something better-tickets to see Linkin Park! "An early birthday present," he explained to her shocked but very, very happy face.

She was probably the only kid in middle school who loved alternative rock, and probably the only one with braces and acne and whose breasts haven't developed yet. She couldn't find the words, so she hugged him hard until he laughed that he couldn't breath. She was still bouncing up and down in front of their apartment when Troy, in a tone that demanded attention, told her to go next door and call 911. Gone was the smile in his voice and the bounce in her step. Hearing hoarse crying and cruel words on the other side, she banged on their neighbor's door, angry that no one was answering. Troy had managed to break the door down, and she was still confused, still helpless, until their neighbor was thrown out their front door, falling over the railing.

She heard him croak for help. His name was Rick and he was asking for her help, and when she leaned over the railing, his pants were down, exposing himself. Troy pulled her away and told her to run to Uncle Mike's; he told her to wait there because she didn't need to be here. He didn't want anyone to badger her with questions. He wouldn't let anyone force her to stutter and cry.

So she ran to Uncle Mike's and ate all of his rocky road ice cream. _Everything's okay_, she'd told herself, _there's nothing to worry about. Troy will fix this. He always fixes everything_. For years, she would wish she hadn't run because they wouldn't let her see her older brother the next day. What Troy didn't want to happen the day before was happening twenty-four hours later. She was at the police station, crying and stuttering and begging to see her older brother.

"It wasn't his fault," she cried. "It was never his fault."

Even when Uncle Mike carried her from the station to the hospital to see her mother, Stephanie had never felt alone as she did in that moment. Troy was her best friend, her protector, her older brother who became her father. She cried into her mother's arms, and her mother cried into her daughter's unruly hair while Uncle Mike stood at the window with his back to them, shoulders shaking, wondering how everything went to shit.

At the plea bargaining, the judge sentenced Troy fourteen years to New Mexico State Penitentiary for involuntary manslaughter. During their first one-hour visitation, he had bloodshot eyes, a sign that he hadn't slept for days; he told them it was okay if they left the state.

"Listen to me," he said, cutting off Clarissa, sounding older than his seventeen years. "I hid some emergency money under my bed. I don't know how much there is in there, but take it-take all of it, pack everything, and leave. As for the shop, sell it. There's a guy named Josh who's willing to pay more than what it's worth. Take his offer. And my college fund? Just put it in Steph's account-"

"No!" the twelve-year-old whispered, crying into their mother's shaking shoulder.

"I'm a household name in this state," he continued bluntly. "There's no point in dragging you two through this."

It was the worst summer of their lives.

A month and a half later, they were in Gray Haven, California. They were the mother and daughter who kept to themselves until it was impossible. Like the residents of Winters, the residents of Gray Haven wanted to know all about their new neighbors, and bits and pieces from their past were whispered around town. Clarissa had lost her husband and kept his white, old truck in the garage, never driving it, and Stephanie was bullied at her last middle school but over the years, grew into her looks and became the most popular (yet reluctant) girl at Gray Haven High.

Oh, Troy? Clarissa's eldest? He was still in Albuquerque, doing his own thing, living his own life. When would he visit? Oh, he wasn't the type to travel much. Instead, Clarissa and Stephanie would visit him-they liked being on the road. What did he do? Oh, everything. He was always a hands-on kind-of-guy. Was he handsome? Of course. Did he have a girlfriend? Oh, no. He wasn't much for commitment.

Right away, Clarissa had used her bookkeeping skills to open an office with Troy's money. It was as if no one in town (or the three neighboring towns for that matter) had a bookkeeper so the then forty-three-year-old became the go-to gal for financial matters. It took a few years for the business to generate enough income to pay for therapy sessions and self-defense classes. Though the sessions were emotionally and mentally challenging, they were worth it. The self-defense classes, on the other hand, were not something they needed, but attending them on the weekends made them feel stronger, knowing that they were capable of unmanning anyone who had the nerve to put their hands on them.

"When I get out of here," then twenty-four-year-old Troy started during a rare one-hour visitation, his sleeves rolled up to bare the dragon slithering down his right forearm, "we'll have to see how good you two are."

"Troy," Clarissa started with a sweet voice that made her son's features soften, "I'll kick your butt so hard you'd want to find comfort in my womb again."

Nineteen-year-old Stephanie laughed while the inmate shuddered, his shackles rattling around his wrists.

Light moments like these made it slightly easier for Clarissa, but seeing those restraints on her son, her firstborn, always reminded her of that June afternoon (she didn't ask for it, and don't you dare say otherwise) and made her uncomfortable. Even more uncomfortable were the thoughts she kept away from her therapist. Thoughts such as, "What if he got into trouble again? What if he couldn't support himself?"

Eventually, she stopped asking the last question (because he had shared his plans of interviewing for every job he had a chance of scoring after his release), but the former had plagued her when she first saw Rick flat on the concrete, blood coming out of his ears as Troy helped her into the truck her husband picked her up in for their senior prom. Her son had done the responsible thing and turned himself in, but during the plea bargain, she found herself doubting him. Like Troy, Rick was good-looking, preferred to be alone, and worked with his hands. He was a good guy until he attacked her. Her son was a good guy until he killed Rick. It wasn't intentional, but Troy killed someone and that someone died and that was how everyone saw it.

When she finally shared this with Dr. Stevens, he asked without blame if she had ever compared her son to her rapist. After a few moments, Clarissa was ashamed to admit that she had. She went home to take a long, hard look in the mirror and cried. When she was ready, she pulled out Troy's baby pictures in a box she hid in her closet.

"I'm sorry," she whispered to a photo of him in yellow rain boots, followed by his graduation photo. He looked so handsome in his suit. "I'm so, so sorry."

At the next visit, Clarissa looked down at her hands as Stephanie described college from hard-ass teachers to late-night cramming. The twenty-six-year-old was smiling, happy for his younger sister, but the wistfulness in those dark blue eyes, hardened by incarceration and loneliness, killed her.

As if he read her mind, Troy had reached for her hand, and she couldn't remember the last time she touched her own son without flinching. "Don't ever blame yourself for what happened," he said in the softest voice she ever heard. "I did what I did and now I have to live with it."

'Live,' he said, not 'survive.' It was a big difference. She had to live with it, too, and figure out what 'it' exactly was.

It took her nine years to realize that it could've been her on the concrete, blood coming out of her ears. Her baby boy had saved her life-and sacrificed his own while doing so.

-0-

Five years later.

It was around three in the afternoon when Troy returned from dropping off Ms. Darbus. He took another shower (and enjoyed it because there was no need to look over his shoulder), ate a turkey sandwich, and resolved to take a three-to-four hour nap before heading over to his mom and sister's place in Gray Haven with Mike and Rob, who had slipped out the front door with a silly, little grin and two boxes of offending fruit.

Only in his sweats, he had thrown himself onto the bed and clutched his left arm under a pillow, laying on his side, eyes closed.

_He was back at disciplinary segregation (he couldn't remember whom-or how many-he had put in the infirmary this time). He didn't mind the silence in this section of New Mexico State Penitentiary, but damn, couldn't they have been a little more original than sticking with the four, gray wall structure they had going on here? At least throw in a mini fridge full of beer and donuts._

_It was weak humor-he knew he had better jokes up his sleeve. He must be losing his goddamned mind._

_The door opened, but there was no one on the other side. Stepping out, he found himself alone. He walked to the library, and no one was reading. He went to the mess hall, and no one was dining. Inmates were gone, guards were missing, and the distinct lack of noise-no snoring, no senseless babbling-was disconcerting. _

_Finally, a scream. A feminine cry for help._

_He followed it to the worst wing of the prison. Here, child molesters were spit on (don't ask what happened to them at night). Here, wife beaters had their faces smashed in. Here, the hunter would prey on the weak. _

_Troy should know. He had the scars on his body to prove it._

_Men who tried to hurt him, beat him, touch him, were touching his mother and Stephanie and Gabriella and Taylor and Ms. Darbus and a few girls from Albuquerque. Suddenly frozen and chained around his wrists and feet, Troy was helpless to the blade against his throat and the sickening stench of liquor._

"_Pretty and weak," Rick whispered, brushing his nose against the younger man's face. "Just how I like 'em."_

He woke up on the floor, the sheets twisted around his legs, and ran his shaking fingers through his wet hair. It was time for another shower.

-0-

Zane Avery was 96.9% sure that he was going to marry Brooklyn Manhattan Baylor, and he was also 97.8% positive that the purpose of her existence was to sass him.

He was looking forward to growing old with her.

-0-

Mike and Rob had bailed to confront some jackass named Henry at the radio station. The former tossed a baseball bat into the trunk of Rob's SUV while the latter muttered something about pink jelly shots. Sometimes asking questions didn't make things better. Troy just swiped the keys to the truck and the directions to Gray Haven from his uncle's hands and left before Rob could comment on the bow tie.

Really, he thought he would look classier in a bow tie.

When his mama opened the door and saw him standing on her porch, she flew into his arms and cried into his chest, staining with her tears and makeup a clean black t-shirt that smelled nothing like him. When he made a move to pull away, she threatened to hot-glue her body to his to ensure he'd never leave her sight again.

He kissed the top of her head, a few distinguished gray hairs in her dark reddish-brown hair. "I have to make sure Steph doesn't drown us in her tears."

"Make room, Mama," the twenty-six-year-old murmured, slipping her right arm around her older brother (the one who got suspended for punching a boy who made fun of her acne and braces, the one who convinced her to write letters to their dead father to make her feel better, the one who told them to make a clean slate in California) and her left one around their mother (the one who taught them how to cook behind their father's back, the one who packed extra sandwiches if they were feeling down, the one who got them a turtle for Christmas).

It had been too long since Troy hugged the two most important women in his life.

-0-

Contrary to popular belief, Sharpay Evans-Baylor knew when enough was enough.

She just didn't care for it.

Once an Evans, always an Evan. It was the golden fucking rule to living a fabulous life, and fabulous, she was and always would be.

Don't. Fuck. With. Her.

She was a mama bear, an older sister, a successful drama teacher, and a rather possessive wife, so she embodied everything and all that was 'bossy, bossy, bossy.'

So when she decided that Wednesdays were boring years, years ago, Gabriella muttered, "Fuck it. We'd look good in orange jumpsuits anyway," while Taylor mumbled, "No matter how simple that sounds, I think it's a horrible idea."

If this was _Rugrats: The Real Life_, Sharpay was Angelica, Gabriella was Tommy, and Taylor was Chuckie. And it was on that Wednesday years, years ago, a mean three-year-old and a bald baby dragged a screaming, four-eyed redhead to the roof of their middle school and set those fireworks off.

It wasn't even a national holiday, but damn, they were feeling patriotic.

Sharpay, the oldest, took the blame even though everyone knew it was Gabriella who had flirted with a classmate to convince him to give her his older brother's supply of cherry bombs. And as for Taylor? She bailed them out during the student trial. Sure she was with them during their escapade, but she was considered the victim, kidnapped and forced to watch the show. Oh, yes, the fun was traumatizing. So when she stepped in as their lawyer, ready to kick verbal ass, the jury threw up their hands and agreed that it was all in good fun and no one was really hurt.

You'd always remember Sharpay Evans and Gabriella Montez, but it would be your death wish if you forgot about Taylor McKessie.

So on this quiet, Wednesday evening, their mandatory dinner night, it was no surprise that Taylor was bitching about Chad Danforth, who seemed to have forgotten her when he met up with his ex, Casey 'Ecstasy' Duvall.

"Maybe it was a contact high." The blonde shrugged, preparing three plates of her husband's creamy pasta that he made before leaving the house to hang with friends, one of whom was the object of Taylor's fury. "She was so high that it probably bled into his bloodstream."

"Chad wouldn't cheat on Taylor," Gabriella said confidently from her seat at the kitchen counter. She was adding light olive oil and crunchy croutons to the salad. "Casey just reminds him too much of his sister, and he really wants her to get better. He was discussing rehab, and she looked like she was really considering it." The brunette would know since they were at the bar and Chad had pulled her away to talk so she wouldn't get the wrong idea. Honestly, if he hadn't talked to her, she wouldn't have known about the meeting in the first place since she was barely there for three hours and she was… distracted. "Besides, if he's going to cheat on you, he wouldn't hide it."

The man couldn't even hide his junk food addiction even though he was a gym rat, and the thought made Taylor smile (they didn't have to know that she was faking her insecurities to stop herself from mentioning this morning's encounter) as she poured Sprite into the wine glasses (last time they got drunk, they thought the firefighters from two different counties were male strippers, but they appreciated the half-assed lap dances, literally). They brought the plates and glasses outside to eat on the backyard patio facing the sunset. After finishing the pasta and salad, Sharpay came back with three bowls of butter pecan ice cream.

Butter pecan ice cream meant two things: Gabriella was in trouble, and she had better watch her back.

"Ms. Henderson stopped by the bakery this afternoon," the blonde began, licking her spoon as she mentioned the hypochondriac living next door to Gabriella. "Said she had erectile dysfunction and a heart attack when she looked out her window. Face of Adonis. Bangin' body. Sexy hair. Voice of a fuckin' angel. Funny how you didn't mention your new neighbor, Gabriella." She glared. "At. Fuckin'. All. Is there something you want to share?"

When Sharpay dropped her g's, there was no chance for salvation.

-0-

"You look different without your jumpsuit," David Rhodes observed, sipping from his bottle of beer as the Spurs dominated the fourth quarter against the Kings on the screen. "And the chains. Can't forget those chains."

"I can." Clarissa snuggled closer to him on the couch. "Now hush up and pass the beer." She looked at Troy who was soaking up the game from a worn-out, green recliner to their left in the living room. "Do you want some, sweetie? We stocked up yesterday."

The fifty-seven-year-old had never been a big fan of alcohol, but after a few years in Gray Haven, she found herself fond of it, especially when taken in the company of the man beside her. The Sheriff started out as a good friend and sometimes trainer at the weekend self-defense classes, but after a few years of dodging around each other, the then thirty-five-year-old said, "Screw it," and moved in when Clarissa wasn't looking.

That was three years ago, and Clarissa thought that the two most important men in her life would clash, but after their first encounter at NMSP, David had admitted that Troy was "a little shit who loved his mama and baby sister very much." _He ain't so bad_, was what he was trying to say and she heard it.

Troy didn't have a problem with David, either, ("Hurt her, I'll shove a machete down your throat") even though he could practically taste the law enforcement in his mouth when they first met; sure the man was nineteen years younger than his mama, but he was a good man who didn't bat an eyelash when his woman told him the truth about her son ("You can't get rid of me that easily, you beautiful cradle robber"). It didn't even hurt that they were such huge Spurs fans in a state that had four teams ("Fuck the Kings," they agreed).

"No." At NMSP, there was a guy who killed his entire family while under the influence of alcohol. "I need to drive back to Winters sober as a knob job."

Without Clarissa noticing, Stephanie pretended to puke in her mouth while Troy rolled his eyes.

"You can crash here." David jerked his thumb upstairs. "Clarissa fixed a room for you when she heard you were coming to town. She even has some of your old clothes in the closet-makes no sense since you're a fucking titan."

"It's not that. I haven't had one since gra-" Clarissa gave him a fierce mean-face. "I mean, I never been exposed to the dangers of alcohol at all and-"

"Troy, just stay over," Stephanie interrupted from the other side of the couch. "You can let me win at Monopoly this time."

Well, that was the thing. He wanted to play with another woman. But not at Monopoly.

-0-

Contrary to popular belief, Sharpay Evans-Baylor knew what it felt to be vulnerable. It wasn't obvious because in high school, she played strong characters and refused to take any weak-willed roles. Behind the scenes, however, she was tired of having to prove herself and honestly, she was getting sick of the whole thing when there was show after show after show; everyone expected her to be a part of the process. If she wasn't, she failed. If she was, she did too much. So she turned down Julliard and attended UCLA-only to find a basket of goodies, courtesy of Zeke Baylor.

What a simple yet complicated gesture.

She majored in theater, returned to Winters for a teaching job, and married the man who inspired her, the one who didn't care if she was happy, mad, vulnerable, or crazy. Like Zeke, theater demanded that she explore the side of her that she was afraid of, and the challenge paid off because Sharpay learned that she wasn't only 'bossy, bossy, bossy.' She knew how to take care of the people she loved, and she was relentless to have what she deserved. She had underestimated herself.

At 29, Taylor learned that her father had stolen from EMM Associates. Sharpay was the one who brought Taylor back to Winters after she went missing for two months. At 29, Gabriella lost her husband. Sharpay was the one who brought casseroles for dinner and called people to fix whatever was broken in the house. At 29, Sharpay had a miscarriage. She never got over it, but she was the one who told Zeke that they had to try again.

Being vulnerable at 29 was much different than being vulnerable at 16.

Things were also different but not quite at thirty-two. Taylor loved her father, but hadn't forgiven him. Gabriella had accepted Judd's death, but avoided potentially serious relationships. Sharpay wanted another child, but couldn't get pregnant.

On the patio, they were very much aware of the problems one another had, and the blonde was determined to fix them. She didn't have a plan for Taylor, yet. But for Gabriella, Troy Bolton had to be out of the picture.

It was safe to say that he was a vulnerability that Gabriella couldn't afford.

-0-

Taylor should've said something when Sharpay laid everything out like a treasure map to nowhere. With parents who took advantage of their wealth to have a family, private investigator, the blonde knew everything there was to know about Troy Bolton-and manipulated everything to her advantage.

An Albuquerque native, Troy Alexander Bolton was born October 2, 1984 at 6:42 AM. He was raised by Clarissa Mae and Jack Taylor Bolton. They had lived in a neighborhood where drug- and gang-related activities were frequent. For most of his academic career, Troy struggled with English and history, and because he was the youngest in his class, he was a loner. After his father died in a confrontation, Troy took small jobs around the town; he was especially notorious among his female employers and their daughters.

On June 15, 2001 at 3:25 PM, four days after his graduation, Troy Bolton killed a man.

Sharpay looked up from the folder. "Do you want me to go on?"

Gabriella didn't bother filling up another glass. She just took a swig from the bottle itself.

-0-

Troy returned to the house a few minutes before eleven. Rob's SUV wasn't in the driveway, so he assumed that they were still clubbing Henry into submission at the station. He was slipping off his shoes in the guest room when the doorbell rang. On his way to the door, he stopped by a hallway mirror and messed with his hair until it looked effortlessly tousled-natural.

Before him was Gabriella in a short, light purple dress that looked beautiful against her honey-olive skin. "Let me get that for you," she said in a low, intimate tone that sparked something hot in his bloodstream as she leaned in to loosen his bow tie.

His blue eyes went dark and warm when her chest brushed against his. A whisper away from her face, he breathed, "Hi."

Her hands slipped under his shirt. "Boy Toy wasn't my original nickname for you," she confessed, dragging her nails across his abdomen. "But I didn't think calling you Sweet Ass in front of my son was appropriate."

She helped him shed his shirt, exposing his rock-hard body to the porch light, and laid her hands on his chest. His lips were about to touch hers when she twisted his nipples.

"But I'd make an exception to Fromunda Stain."

-0-

"He's good." Putting the device on the nightstand, Chad pulled Taylor closer to him in bed and gave her a smile that melted her insides. "You're incredible, you know that?"

Well, if Troy couldn't get the girl, she had decided on her way home, then he would damn sure get this job.

"How did you tape all of that without him noticing?"

She laid her head on his chest, glad that he was talking to her again, as he changed the channel to their favorite late night show. "I'm pretty sure that he did notice, but was probably humoring me."

He nodded. "He does seem observant. It's a good thing." Lowering the volume, he continued, "Forget dinner. Just send him to the shop. Lots of people are getting their cars checked before this weekend. They can just walk to the boardwalk, but that's human nature for ya."

"You mean it's human nature to not even suggest the possibility of walking to the boardwalk to your customers?" Taylor teased.

Chad looked stumped. "Well, yeah. I'm me, Tay. Take me as I am or leave me at Zeke's to eat his chocolate pudding."

She laughed. "You might want to rethink that statement."

"Oh, you silly woman." Then he retaliated by blowing a raspberry against her cheek, making her squeal.

A/N: I was going to expand upon Zane's section, but decided to be a sadist. I'm ready for your hate.


End file.
